Just a Little Light

Last Friday my Inboxes all contained the same message:  You Did It. 

What I had done was make it through my first Thanksgiving since Bruce died.  And, I obviously did.  In some respects, the anticipation of the day was harder than the day itself, which was filled with the gift of family and food.  Babies have a way of being an excellent distraction.  Mine (my grandchildren) are two and a half years old and ten months old.  And are they ever fun!  Their parents hit the easy baby jackpot with these two, who are generally very easy going.  The two year old is curious and tender and imaginative and the ten month old is downright jolly.  We read books and played with toys and chortled a lot.  Chortling, it has been scientifically proven, is good for the soul.  And we toasted Bruce and prayed with gratitude and went back for seconds.  I am so very grateful for having family nearby. 

When we all lived in Seattle/Portland, Bruce and I were almost always the hosts of the feast.  As we’d been since our return as well.  We’d start the preparation days and weeks ahead – lists made and provisions purchased.  We often built gingerbread houses as an after-dinner activity so we wouldn’t all just slip into a tryptophan trance. We broke out the communal holiday puzzle which turned out to be an excellent way for the introverts among us to be in a crowded room and still be comfortable. Our table was always open for those who needed a place to be: a neighbor or a colleague or a friend. 

When we moved to Columbus we came back to the PNW for one Thanksgiving, but we also took the opportunity to make some new memories.  One year we went on a magical trip through Pennsylvania, stopping at Gettysburg, then to Mt. Joy, where we spent the holiday at a wondrous inn, and finally to Philadelphia for the incredible museums and the Christmas market.   We each loved experiencing places that were new to both of us and that particular trip was full of special firsts.  Another year we took a jaunt over the river and through the woods to Bruce’s brother’s house, outside of Atlanta.  Two of his nephews and their families were there too. We returned to Ohio by way of Nashville, one of our favorite cities, where we stopped at a beloved bookstore and our often visited café.  It was the last time we were there.

This year I still made a pecan pie, his favorite.  But it wasn’t the same without his effusive praise and gratitude.

So yes, grief/widow related sites:  I Did It.

And now it’s Advent.  This is one of my favorite seasons in the year.  It stands as counterpoint to the jangly jingles of the culture that rushes us full tilt to Christmas.  Our liturgy was simple yesterday allowing time for silence and stillness.  With the light of the first candle on the Advent wreath we were reminded that when there is even one light, there is

reason for hope.  I’m so glad that we don’t put the trees up in the sanctuary right away.  Somehow, that also creates a visual simplicity in an otherwise cluttered season.

Which brings me to my home.  I am a Christmas. Person.  Bruce supported my habit like a jolly elf – stringing up lights and setting up our Christmas Village that grew every year with the new piece we’d add on our anniversary.  Trip souvenirs were almost always Christmas ornaments.  Our trees (yes, multiples) told the story of our life together.  The main tree was always a real tree and was joined by my Nanny’s pencil tree, a flocked tree, an antique tinsel tree, and a 4 foot tall theme tree.  Last year we added a small pink tree to the collection.  But this year, it feels overwhelming to imagine all of these things.  So, I’ve decided that the flocked tree will hold the gifts, but that it won’t hold any of those special ornaments this year.  Just a few that have no sentiment attached.  The little pink tree is up and the 4-foot theme tree is out but currently stands unadorned.  Maybe its theme this year is “survival”.  Nanny’s tree is going in my room – I feel her close to me in this season.

While I’ve always loved the quiet simplicity of Advent, it feels especially right this year.  To enter fully into the invitation of Advent feels this year like an act of courage.  Of resilience.  Of memory.  Of hope.  And to observe the start of this season at the six month observance of Bruce’s death feels somehow exactly right.  Terrible, and right.

At our contemporary worship service this morning, New Song Band led us in one of my favorite Advent songs, Light of the World, by Lauren Daigle. The link is HERE.  I hope you enjoy it, too.

May this Advent bring space and room for whatever you need.  I may write a little more or a little less than usual; I’m not sure.  But I’m glad you’re here, too, and that the light from that one candle…well, it’s all we need. 

Light of the World

The world waits for a miracle

The heart longs for a little bit of hope

Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel

A child prays for peace on Earth

And she's calling out from a sea of hurt

Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel

And can you hear the angels singing

Glory to the light of the world

Glory, the light of the world is here

The drought breaks with the tears of a mother

A baby's cry is the sound of love

Come down, come down, Emmanuel

He is the song for the suffering

He is Messiah, the Prince of Peace has come

He has come, Emmanuel

Glory to the light of the world

Glory to the light of the world

Glory to the light of the world

Glory to the light of the world

For all who wait

For all who hunger

For all who've prayed

For all who wonder

Behold your King

Behold Messiah

Emmanuel, Emmanuel

Glo-glory to the light of the world

Glory to the light of the world

Glory to the light of the world

Behold your King

Behold Messiah

Emmanuel, Emmanuel

The world waits for the miracle

The heart longs for a little bit of hope

Oh come, oh come Emmanuel